


✞ 𝕊𝕌𝕀ℂ𝕀𝔻𝔸𝕃 𝕋𝔼ℕ𝔻𝔸ℕℂ𝕀𝔼𝕊 ✞

by welcometochavtown



Category: Bring Me The Horizon
Genre: Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Implied/References Eating Disorders, M/M, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-20
Updated: 2021-02-20
Packaged: 2021-03-17 00:02:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,990
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29584155
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/welcometochavtown/pseuds/welcometochavtown
Summary: Oli's been talking to a suicide helpline for a few months. His 'councillor', Mat, is a teenager his age, who'd volunteered to the helpline to help him with his psychology degree.Oli's been talking to a suicide helpline for a few months. His 'councillor', Mat, is a teenager his age, who'd volunteered to the helpline to help him with his psychology degree.☽☽☽In which, a boy who's given up is shown reasons to live.
Relationships: Matt Nicholls/Oliver Sykes





	✞ 𝕊𝕌𝕀ℂ𝕀𝔻𝔸𝕃 𝕋𝔼ℕ𝔻𝔸ℕℂ𝕀𝔼𝕊 ✞

**Author's Note:**

> [TRIGGER WARNING: SUICIDAL THOUGHTS/ACTIONS, IMPLIED SELF-HARM/EATING DISORDERS.]

Why did he exist? To ruin the happiness of others? Seemed like it.

What was the purpose of him? To be nothing but a waste of space? An ignorant git to those around him? Probably.

Who was he really? A worthless idiot with a knack for disappearing in his room for days on end? That was Oliver!

Where did he belong? In a kingdom two-foot wide, and six-foot deep? Yeah...

When would he finally be happy? Never? Most likely.

He groaned, rubbing his face with his hands. Wincing, he brought his left hand away from his face, cradling his wrist at the pain that blossomed from the movement.

It was really tempting to call Mat, the boy a few months older than him in a town not too far away. He'd been Oliver's assigned 'councillor' for about four months, since the younger boy had reached out to a suicide hotline.

Suicide... There, he said it. He wanted to commit suicide. He wanted to end his own life. He wanted his heart to stop working, and the breath to leave his lungs.

He wanted to not exist anymore. He couldn't live like he was, but that didn't mean he didn't want to live. He was just sick of the way he was living, and nothing could stop his sickness.

Apart from allowing himself to fade into nothing but a mere memory no one would bother to think about.

After all, why would they? He was Oliver Scott Sykes, the 'Syko' kid who'd been in hospital for endangering himself more times than the number of years he'd been alive.

He was just a seventeen year-old boy; yet, he still had no will to live.

Oliver pulled at his straightened hair, and whimpered at the thoughts in his head.

Too loud...

Too fucking loud...

Just leave him alone!

Groping at his bed for his phone, Oliver lay back, blinking harshly to force away the tears brimming his hazel eyes.

He pressed on his emergency contacts quickly, clicking on the familiar phone number.

Why Mat was his emergency contact, he didn't know. Maybe, it was because Mat was the only person who showed genuine care towards his safety.

Now, that was a lie, and Oliver knew it. It felt like the truth, but he knew his family cared for him. His parents were really supportive of him, when it came to his queerness especially.

Yes, he wasn't straight. Far from it, actually. But, still, they were supportive, and so was his brother.

Tom... Oliver had been pushing him away recently. It wasn't good for their already love-hate relationship, particularly because their hatred towards one another was thawing since Oliver's most recent hospitalisation.

Oh, right, he still needed to eat, he reminded himself. He didn't want his doctor mad at him for engaging in 'food-restrictive activities'. Ugh.

Shaking his head, Oliver pressed call.

The phone rung precisely twice (like always, another way Mat kind of made him feel wanted) before the voice he'd came to adore filled his ears.

"'ello, Ols. How are you doing, Mate?"

Oliver couldn't stop the red shade sweeping over his pale cheeks. Mat did make him feel... Just a tad... Loved? Was that the word? Maybe it was just gay hopefulness.

"H-Hiya, Mat..."

"Oli?" Mat asked gently, as though the fragile boy would shatter into a million pieces. "Oli, how are you feeling?"

"M-Mat..." Oliver whimpered, choking on sobs that were ready to rip through his entire being.

Do it, Oliver, he thought. Kill yourself. No one would care — for too long, that is.

His mum would cry, sure. But, then? Nothing. She had Tom.

Tom, yeah. The better kid. Maybe not as academically smart as his older brother, but definitely a better kid. Less troublesome.

At least, Ian and Carol didn't have to rush him to the hospital after his latest dangerous act. Or, sit down on that hospital chair, and ask:

"Why, Oliver? Why this time? What excuse can you come up with now? Just tell us the truth!"

He'd heard it all before.

"Oh, Ols. What's going on inside that pretty little head of yours?"

"Mat... I just want it all to end!" he wailed, covering his face with his hands. "I don't want to live. I hate this life!"

Mat bit his lip: even though he'd volunteered to deal with this shit, hearing the boy he cared about deeply crying about wanting to end his own life fucking hurt.

No. Worse than 'hurt'. Hurt meant nothing compared to the feeling of his heart being torn from his body and repeatedly stabbed by the words — by the mantra Oliver repeated to him daily.

I want to kill myself, Mat. Please, just let it end.

Damn, it fucking killed him.

"Oli... I know you hate this life. I know you do. But, soon, you can get away from it all. Finally be your own person. Soon... You've just got to help yourself out of this mentality."

Oliver scoffed, despite himself.

"Mat, don't act like that... Don't act like, if I killed myself right now, people would care for the rest of their lives. Don't act like the stars wouldn't shine; like the Sun wouldn't warm the planet; like the Earth wouldn't still rotate. Don't act like, in three years, people will still be 'crying' over my death. Don't fucking act like that."

"Fuck that, Oliver. Fuck that bullshit. Don't give me that bullshit," Mat snapped.

It fucking hurt.

"Do not sit there and tell me that Jordan (that's your best friend's name, right?) wouldn't sit at the lunch table, staring at the empty seat you would've normally been filling. Don't tell me he won't sit there numbly, wishing you were there. Don't fucking lie to me and say he might not just break down, because, fuck, his best friend really killed himself!"

Oliver bit his cheek. He wouldn't care. Jordan would probably laugh. He'd probably be happy that the burden was finally six-feet-under.

He opened his mouth, to correct Mat's statement. But, no words of came out of his mouth.

"Don't tell me that Tom wouldn't burst out crying in the middle of science, because they're learning about dinosaurs at the moment. But, dinosaurs are your favourite thing. Don't fucking sit there and give me that bullshit. Because, you know, that, the moment the word 'dinosaur' or 'velociraptor' left his teacher's mouth, he'd start sobbing," Mat reasoned.

"B-But..." Oliver spluttered.

The vision of Tom sobbing... He hated it. He hated seeing his brother sad.

"No fucking 'but's, Oliver. Don't sit there and try to convince me that your mum wouldn't accidentally set up four plates at the dinner table, only to look at the empty spot you once filled and cry. Don't tell me she wouldn't walk past your bedroom door, staring at the dinosaur stickers that spell out your name, wondering if she should take them down. Do you really think she wouldn't go inside your room and find your favourite hoodie or blanket, and just keep it with her? Because, it reminds her of you; whilst she doesn't need the reminded, she doesn't ever want to let herself forget your face. Your pretty face..."

Oliver blushed. Pretty... He was far from good-looking. But... Whatever Mat wanted to believe, he guessed.

"Think about your dad, Oli. Think about him. Don't tell me he wouldn't begin working extra hours, because he can't handle the lack of your presence. Don't tell me he wouldn't start working nights, just because the silence left without you practising your screams at 3AM isn't deafening to him. Oliver, don't give me this bullshit!"

"What bullshit, Mat? It's true. Maybe they'll feel like this for a while, but they'll get over it!"

Mat growled. "So, you're telling me that your cousin — Mitch? — wouldn't go into your room, just to get the dinosaur plushie he won you four years ago? That he wouldn't sob into it and take it home with him? You're telling me... That Mitch wouldn't keep that plushie on his nightstand, sometimes staring at it, feeling nothing but emptiness? You're telling me that he wouldn't hand it to his firstborn daughter — or son, or whatever — with tears in his eyes, explaining that they need to take good care of it, because it belonged to someone he cared about a lot? You're full of bullshit, Oliver!"

Fuck him and his stupid excuses that kind of made sense — wait... That growl... Fuck...

Oliver looked down at his tightening jeans with a blush. Now was not the time to get turned on! Ugh...

"Don't tell me your friends wouldn't stare blankly at the memorial left at school for you — for the boy everyone knew the name of, because he killed himself, and news travels fast. Oliver... Please... None of us want this to happen. Don't tell me you think I won't sit there staring at my phone, awaiting your phone call, only to remember that you're fucking dead... Don't give me this bullshit 'you wouldn't care for long'. We would, Oli. We really fucking would..."

"M-Mat!" Oliver sniffled, wiping away individual tears as they fell onto his smooth cheeks. "M-Mat, h-how do I survive this?" He asked timidly.

"You fucking get out there, hold your head up high, and get help. Get the help you need. Please. You can do this. I believe in you."

"You're right... I'm going to go get professional help... Thank you so much... For everything... I — "

I love you...

"You're welcome. Now, get out there, and get clean. I'm proud of you, Oliver. Maybe, someday, our paths will cross again. Maybe..."

Mat smiled, but the selfish part of him wanted to cry. He'd probably go on to be a psychologist without speaking to this kid again... That's not what he wanted... But, he wanted Oliver to be happy, healthy and safe.

"We will! I'll make sure of it!"

"Just go get the help you need, Oliver. I'll be waiting."

And, so he did...

☽☽☽

A year later, the six-month anniversary of Oliver's release from his psychologist.

☽☽☽

"No, Tom, I am not getting you weed!" Oliver hissed into his phone, free hand shoved in his pocket.

"Why not? Because you're fourteen! What do you mean? No! Shut up about Him, okay? Ugh! Fuck you, Thomas!"

He moodily pressed 'end call', shoving his phone and hand pack into his pocket. His brother was such a brat sometimes.

Oliver kept his eyes on his shoes, noting that his mum changed back the laces to match... Again...

He was shocked out of his inspection by his arse meeting the cobble path, causing him to let out a squeal of shock.

"Fuck! I'm so sorry! I wasn't paying attention to where I was going!" a person rambles quickly, holding out their hand for him to grab.

That voice sounded very... Familiar... Oliver's gaze snaked up their arm to their face, eyes widening in shock.

"M-Mat?" he squeaked.

"Oli? Holy shit!" Mat gasped, pulling the shorter boy onto his feet again. "You're hotter than I remember," he muttered.

Oliver heard it though...

"I-It's me, M-Mat! I did it! I'm clean!"

"Really? I'm so fucking proud of you, Oliver. So fucking proud..." Mat admitted.

Oliver nodded, wrapping his arms around the taller male without a second thought.

He melted into the embrace, tension leaving his body. He was finally touching the person that saved his life...

Mat's hands cupped Oliver's tinted-pink cheeks, thumb rubbing underneath each eye.

"You made it..." he whispered. "You made it out alive, and found your way to me!"

Oliver blushed at the touch, looking away in shyness.

"I did..."

Mat leaned in and kissed his nose, just gently: it was something he'd always wanted to do.

"I think we have some catching up to do."

Oliver nodded.

"I think you're right," he agreed.

And, so, the two walked together, discussing their year without contact.

Maybe, Mat was the key to happiness all along...


End file.
